Cabin(bond)lock drabble challenge
by skyfallat221b
Summary: A series of drabbles, mostly written for the drabble challenge on tumblr. Cabin Pressure, Sherlock and a little bit of James Bond. Mostly MartinxMolly.
1. Chapter 1

**  
Using the prompts below, write a drabble (or whatever) a day for the next 30 days. find someone willing to hit you if you miss a day. look back at the end and go 'oh! i'm a writer!'.** beginning. accusation. restless. snowflake. haze. flame. formal. companion. move. silver. prepared. knowledge. denial. wind. order. thanks. look. summer. transformation. tremble. sunset. mad. thousand. outside. winter. diamond. letters. promise. simple. future.

DAY 1 : **Beginning.**

It was the most beautiful sunrise he'd ever seen. Spreading his arms out, lying back into the slightly damp grass, he watched as the sun climbed higher and higher in the wide sky. It chased away the demons of the night, the dark thoughts and all of the stress which had come with the perspective on another try at passing his CPL. The 7th time. His curly hair fell down into the grass, and he felt some straws tickle his neck, as he ruffled around. It seemed a dream. Maybe today would finally be the day he passed?

Normally, he'd be sad and stressed. But, right now, in that instant, Martin was happy. It was probably because he was tired - there were two dark half circles under his eyes, contrasting with the colourful freckles on his cheeks. He thought about last time he'd seen such a sunrise: he couldn't remember it. He'd seen many, stayed up studying the entire night, only to see, from the corner of his eye, the giant fireball come forth and chase away the night. But this time, it was different.

Pushing himself upright, he looked around. There was nobody around him, everybody was at home, still sleeping or getting ready for work. He'd gone outside after closing his book for the last time that night, after realising that he would be unable to sleep anyway. The trees were glistening with single drops, the grass felt soft. Like a natural green pillow. It was with great regret that he got up, and said farewell to the park.

He had to get ready for the exam. He'd even asked a really nice little old lady in the building on some breathing exercises. She'd been a nurse, and helped many women give birth, she'd told him, and the secret was the breathing. Martin knew that he wasn't just about to give birth - lord no! - but the breathing exercises had indeed helped him. He felt ready for the challenge, and strangely serene.

Stepping into his little room, he gazed around. It was a terrible mess. Resembling the room of a high school student, with paper and drawings everywhere, books in piles around the room, even one under his pillow. His t-shirt had gotten wet from lying in the grass, so he pulled it off, and nonchalantly threw it on top of the rest of his dirty clothes - he would do the laundry sometime eventually. Walking into the bathroom, he pulled a towel out of a cupboard - making some others fall out in the process - and pulled off his pants, before walking into the shower.

The water would wash away all the stress from the night before. He was confident this time: he knew that he was going to pass. He didn't care what the world thought of him right this moment. It was him, and his chance to change his fate. 6 failures. But no more than that. Today will be the day his world begins anew.


	2. Chapter 2

**Using the prompts below, write a drabble (or whatever) a day for the next 30 days. find someone willing to hit you if you miss a day. look back at the end and go 'oh! i'm a writer!'.** beginning. accusation. restless. snowflake. haze. flame. formal. companion. move. silver. prepared. knowledge. denial. wind. order. thanks. look. summer. transformation. tremble. sunset. mad. thousand. outside. winter. diamond. letters. promise. simple. future.

**Day 2/30 - Accusation**

"What- what do you mean he's dead?!" There was a ruffle of papers as he dropped his CPL onto the table. His siblings were looking at him, with a sorry look. "How- how come nobody told me?" he managed to mumble, pulling up a chair, having to sit down. "When?" His voice was nothing but a croak, the good feeling from the previous days having suddenly been crushed by the realisation that the world had spun faster than he would have liked it.

"Three months ago," his sister answered, pushing an envelope toward him. "We couldn't contact you. We had the funeral without you too." He looked up and knew that she was lying: they hadn't tried to contact him. Otherwise, he would have gotten a letter. He knew it. It was only because he was only half their brother. It didn't mean any less: the man whose name had sealed the envelope had raised him as his own, knowing perfectly that he wasn't. Surely, 6 months ago, when Martin had left the nest, there had been cries and yells, but it didn't mean that Martin thought of his father as anything else as that. But having the funeral without him? Did he really mean nothing to them?

"Wh- what's this?" he managed to croak out, looking at the envelope through a veil of tears. He had been so happy to tell them, tell them that he'd finally managed to pass. It took him 7 tries, sure, but he managed in the end! It was his other half-brother who'd told him that. That he could do it. And when Sherlock told someone they could, it meant that they could. He'd been more supportive than the entire Crieff family.

"It's his will. He left you a few things." His half-sister said it in a tone he knew: the you-aren't-even-his-but-he-left-you-something tone. Taking the envelope carefully, Martin pulled out the paper and glancing down at it, he felt his heart shrink. The argument they'd had the last time they had seen each other had pulled him down in the will. The two Crieff siblings had gotten 2,000£ each, as well as some personal belongings. What had he got?

"He left me- he left me the van?!" Martin looked up from the will, blinking some tears from his eyes. "I- I- Why?!" He looked from face to face, but none of them answered. He'd come home hoping they would forgive him and be happy for him. But, now, all he could see was unfamiliar faces judging him. His mother handed him the keys.

"Here, take them and leave. Please?" At least she'd had the decency to tell him please. Laying the paper down on top of the envelope, he rubbed his eyes to dry the tears. He took the keys and wrapped them in his CPL then slowly tucked them into his breast pocket. He didn't say a word: he simply walked out of the kitchen, out through the living room, and opened the main door. Taking a deep breath, he walked outside, into the rain. The van was parked a few feet from the door, but by the time he had reached it, his shoulders, face, hair were soaking wet.

There was one thing he wished to do. He knew it, clear as crystal. Getting into the van, he put the CPL in the glove compartment to avoid it getting wet and ruined. He turned the keys in the contact, and the van gave a whining noise as a response, but started nonetheless. He would go to his Father's grave. He felt betrayed. Stabbed in the back. Three months! He couldn't have waited for 3 months? Martin would take no flowers. Only his accusation.


	3. Chapter 3

**Using the prompts below, write a drabble (or whatever) a day for the next 30 days. find someone willing to hit you if you miss a day. look back at the end and go 'oh! i'm a writer!'.** beginning. accusation. restless. snowflake. haze. flame. formal. companion. move. silver. prepared. knowledge. denial. wind. order. thanks. look. summer. transformation. tremble. sunset. mad. thousand. outside. winter. diamond. letters. promise. simple. future.

**Day 3/30 - Restless**

Getting the CPL had been easy struggle, Martin thought, as he wondered how he would be able to get through to any airline company. He knew that the fact that it said 7 tries to get his license meant something to them and that he probably wouldn't be able to get a job at Air England, but he had always thought that maybe Easy Jet or Ryan Air or any other low-cost company would find his stature acceptable. Even as a First Officer, or anything. He just wanted to fly. Now, he realised, that it was going to be a harder hunt than chasing the license itself.

He hadn't been in contact with any of the Crieff family, nor the Holmes'. He was a bastard, stuck between the two, and Sherlock had stopped answering his texts. It was only after he decided to contact Mycroft that he had learnt that Sherlock had been having issues with drugs. Cocaine, mostly. That made Martin restless: it wasn't like Sherlock to do something like that. But, then again, Sherlock wasn't the usual human being, was he? He would always do something that other people wouldn't. However, he would have done greatly with a little bit of advice or even just a few words to cheer him up. But support disappeared when Sherlock began using drugs, becoming oblivious to Martin's problems. The soon-to-be pilot didn't even know if Sherlock actually knew that he had passed his exam!

However, one day, there came a letter in the mail, stating that a newly founded company was looking for a pilot. The company was My Jet Now, founded by Carolyn Knapp Shappey, and had already found a first officer - someone called Douglas Richardson - and steward - Arthur Shappey. Martin deduced that this Arthur was Carolyn's grandson, since she seemed to be quite old on the picture which went with the letter. There was a date and an appointment hour: he was going for an interview. All his interviews with other companies had finished with a gentle or harder dismissal, and he thought that if he had gotten this letter, it meant something. Maybe Mycroft had done something for him? He didn't know. Mycroft wasn't that caring, was he?

The day before the appointment, Martin was unable to fall asleep. He rolled around in his sheets, sweating, his heartbeat elevated. What if everything went wrong? What if he got in, fell, or said something stupid? What if he offended her? What if he suddenly wasn't able to pilot an airplane? What if the First Officer made fun of him? It was all going round and round in his head, and he wasn't sure he would be able to fall asleep, so he sat upright and looked at the clothes he had chosen for the next day. It was all he had, of nice clothing, besides his pilot's uniform. He would have to add another golden stripe to the jacket if he got the job, because he had set out to become a pilot - it didn't matter if it had been First Officer or Captain. He remembered the letter, anxious. She said that she was looking for someone to rely on, and to be available any time of year. So did all the other companies, but this was a private one, maybe they were going to accept him? From what he'd understood, they were only the three - Carolyn, Arthur and Douglas. Maybe he could join them? He didn't really know.

He felt a drop of sweat pearl down his bare spine, and he fell down against his pillow, burying his face in it. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember all the courtesies he had learnt over the years: how to be polite, how to wait for them to begin the conversation, how to follow them or make them think best of you. But everything seemed to have been shot out of his brain, erased, by some sort of biological virus. Frowning, he turned around to stare at the ceiling where phosphorescent stars were shining. It was an attic he lived in - he was unable to pay the rent where he had been living up until he passed his CPL, so he had been forced to move out. And the only place he had found was this attic. The landlady had agreed to have him there for 10£ a month, as long as he kept it tidy and didn't disturb the students who were living in the floor underneath.

Crawling out of bed, he pulled on his casual pants and pushed the ladder down. As he climbed down, he wondered if some of the students were up. When he saw a light in the living room, he breathed out, relieved. He wasn't the only one to lay restless, apparently. Ghostlike, he moved across the kitchen and knocked gently on the door. "Mind if- if I come in?" he asked the young girl who was reading a book and taking notes. She looked up and smiled at him.

"Couldn't sleep, could ya?" she said, before tapping on the sofa next to her. "No, I- I have a job interview tomorrow," he answered, as he joined her, ruffling his fingers through his curls. "You're- erhm- you're..?" he frowned, as she put her hand on the page of the book she was reading to keep the pages from closing on it. "I'm Jessica. You're the pilot in the attic, right?" Jessica smiled wide. "We don't see you often, Martin, is it?" Nodding, he looked down at her book. "'m not a pilot until I get a job, tomorrow, well, I hope I do, I haven't had any luck because it took me 7 tries to get my license but I did get it in the end, so, people think I might have cheated- not that I did! Never! But still, they don't like seeing it-" He bit his lower lip as he closed his eyes. "What- what are you reading?"

Jessica closed the book to let him see the cover. "It's about how sleeping affects the human body and mind," she answered, grinning slightly. "Fancy, huh? It's 4 in the morning, and neither of us are asleep. We're going to be dead come tomorrow." Martin smiled - the first smile in a long time. Then, they were silent. Martin didn't know what to say - and she had to study anyway. He closed his eyes, and laid his head to the back of the sofa. And, before he knew it, he was sleeping.

When he woke up - when the hen chanted outside - he felt a woollen blanket on his body. It was barely 7 am, and his interview was only at 10. The night had begun restless, but grown quiet in the end. Maybe the day would be the same?


	4. Chapter 4

beginning. accusation. restless. snowflake. haze. flame. formal. companion. move. silver. prepared. knowledge. denial. wind. order. thanks. look. summer. transformation. tremble. sunset. mad. thousand. outside. winter. diamond. letters. promise. simple. future.

**Day 4/30 - Snowflake**

When the first snow fell down on Fitton, lying as a soft white coat, Martin knew that things were going to go uphill. Carolyn had accepted him as a Captain - a Captain! As his first job! He was going to be a Captain! He'd set the condition himself - that he would do it without a salary - but he didn't regret it. He was finally flying. It had been his dream ever since he had been a child - until right after he had realised he couldn't be an airplane. And now, he was finally doing it. Flying.

Sure, it had been an odd meeting: Carolyn was an elderly woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it. She'd been married, but unhappily, and had then divorced. She had gotten the airplane in the divorce - Golf Echo Romeo Tango India (or GERT-I or simply Golf Tango India, depending on what Traffic Air Control was asking) - an old plane, but in working order. It was a jet, only 16 seats, 8 on each side of the plane. But it was enough to make Martin feel good: it could fly, and he was the one flying it.

As he heard the crunching of his shoes against the snow when he crossed the tarmac, he smiled. Last time it had snowed, he had been at the hospital, after Sherlock had overdosed. This time, however, things were brighter. "Skip!" a high pitched voice called, and he turned around, watching the young steward come running toward him. Across the snow covered tarmac. "Arthur! Be carefu-" but Martin's warning came too late. Carolyn's son - and not grandson as he had first thought - was laying flat on his stomach. Thankfully, he had enough layers of clothing on to play penguin across the field: he pushed himself to his knees and giggled. "Skip! We're going to Toronto!" he called, before getting and running toward Martin again, snow covering his clothes.

"Yes, I know, Carolyn gave me the flight pla-"

"D'you think we can go and see the Niagara Falls? D'you think they'll be frozen? Like a massive waterfall of ice and death? That would be brilliant, wouldn't it?" Arthur had interrupted him. Martin smiled - Arthur seemed to be unable to be sad or depressed, always running around and joyful. It had been one of the better surprises of MJN - the shortening of My Jet Now, Martin had learnt: Arthur would always do everything he could to lighten the mood. Even though he was 27 years old.

"Maybe, I don't know, you should ask your mother, we have 12 hours' rest in Canada, so-" Martin started, but he stopped mid sentence as he saw Douglas - his First Officer - coming out of the building, joining them on the tarmac.

"Plotting behind my back are you?" he called, in what Martin called his typical pompous tone. Douglas had been a Captain at Air England for a certain number of years but had been kicked out because of his drinking habits. However, Carolyn had been able to hire him. And, he was being paid for it. And, Martin had also learnt that Douglas always thought he was better than him.

"N- No, we're not. Arthur was just asking if-"

"If we could go to Niagara Falls!" Arthur finished, looking at Douglas as a child would look to his funny uncle who always let him do things his mother wouldn't.

"Well, why not? Maybe we could ice skate on the falls and see who falls over the edge and dies first!" Douglas answered, as he passed them and walked toward the plane, taking each step carefully as to not tumble over like Arthur had done before.

Arthur followed running across the snow - falling approximately every 15 feet - and Martin walked as careful as possible, slipping now and then. Carolyn was waiting for them inside - she was going to come with them. Their client - some Canadian business man - would come 30 minutes later.

As he got up the stairs, Martin stopped and gazed around. The entire airfield was covered in a thin layer of snow - not enough to ground the planes, thankfully - and it was something he never thought he would see. Smiling, he ducked into the cabin, a snowflake melting on his freckled cheek.


	5. Chapter 5

**Finally Bond comes into the picture! (In a way :D)**

* * *

beginning. accusation. restless. snowflake. haze. flame. formal. companion. move. silver. prepared. knowledge. denial. wind. order. thanks. look. summer. transformation. tremble. sunset. mad. thousand. outside. winter. diamond. letters. promise. simple. future.

**Day 5/30 - Haze**

It was foggy outside when he looked through the window. Martin wasn't exactly sure if it was a good idea to do this job today, not with the ice warnings there had been last night on the radio. Perhaps he should call it off. But, then again, if he missed this job, he would be behind with the rent again, and that meant that he would probably be kicked out of his attic. Not that he wanted that, but he was now wondering if it was better to freeze to death while being homeless or to die in a car crash. He decided it would be a quicker death to die in a car crash, and pulled on his warmest clothes.

As he walked outside, he fumbled around to find the van keys. It was too early in the morning for such a job, but he didn't care: they'd promised to pay a lot of money for someone to show up at 5 am, and he was going to show up. How in the whole wide world he was going to get through such a thick haze without getting himself killed, he didn't know. But Martin Crieff was a thick headed one, and he was pretty sure things would go smoothly. Turning on the engine, he found the little note he'd written two days before, with the phone number, name and address of the people he was going to work for. She'd refused to tell him anything else than M for name, but he hadn't complained: sometimes, they didn't even give him a name. Just a number, a point A and a point B, and he had to get from A to B the fastest way possible.

When he pulled up at the address he'd gotten, he realised that this M could have hired anybody else, because obviously money wasn't the problem here. It was in one of those posh neighbourhoods in London. A nice flat that needed emptying, apparently. Martin got out of the car and climbed the step onto the pavement, to meet a little elder lady who was eyeing him carefully.

"Martin Crieff, I expect?" she asked, icy, so stiff that it made Martin's skin crawl. He nodded, before pulling down his scarf to free his mouth and answer: "Yes, for Icarus Removals, you asked me to be here at 5 am." She didn't reply, and simply pulled out a key, opening the door, holding it for him. Inside the hall, there were two other men, looking like those gorilla typed men you see at concerts, watching him. Somehow, he now felt that there was some sort of secrecy concerning all of his trip, but he didn't dare say anything. Not until M spoke again.

"All of his things have been packed already, and the heavier furniture has already been moved. You'll have to move the boxes to this container, for storage." She handed him a visit card, and he took it, watched the address, before looking around into the flat they'd now gotten into. It looked so empty, with only boxes in the living room. "Your payment will be in the container, cash."

Martin swallowed, but nodded nonetheless. The lady managed a cold smile at him, before walking out to the hall again, and instructing the two gorillas to help Martin put the boxes into the van. He bent down and took up a box, thinking about what all of this meant, but thought it better not to ask. When he came out from the hall again, the little lady was gone, and so was the car he'd parked behind. He managed to get to the van without falling, the thick haze still haven't moved an inch, and wondered what kind of people would hire a cheaper than usual man with a van.

He then thought that those people had their reasons, and when those people did certain things, it was better not to ask. He took out the visit card again, and turned it around. There wasn't much written on it, just '_Bond, J. Possessions for storage. 007, dead._' He didn't make anything out of it, and thought it was probably just some administrative codes for something. He tucked the card into the back pocket of his pants and went in again to get some more boxes, hoping he wouldn't break his back during this job, for he had a 9 hour flight next day.

* * *

**That's it for now, I haven't written anymore of the drabbles yet, and I'm going to be incredibly busy with University work in the coming days, so the updates might come a bit slower. If you push me, it might come faster, but I can't even promise that! Sorry, loves!**


End file.
